Justum Est
by homicidalmommy
Summary: Mira and Aurelia survive the days before the climactic sine missione match between Crixus and Spartacus. Based on Episode 13 of S:BS "Kill Them All". R&R, s'il vous plait!  Another tale with Katrina Law's seal of approval - I love our gals!
1. Day 1, Part 1

**DAY ONE – THE PROPOSITION**

**Part One – Greif **

Kind, gentle caresses are so dangerous. Even as a young girl first thrust into slavery, Mira knew this. Yet it was so easy to succumb to the warm touch of another. Every night since that fateful night, Mira lay still among the other slaves, each muscle tensing and constricting, her cold skin crawling with goose bumps. Her body knew no peace absent her friend's reassuring hands.

Her mind fared no better, as she drove herself mad pondering Naevia's fate. Domina gave no indication of her whereabouts, no whispers of gossip on the wind to rest Mira's heart. Domina never spoke of the girl again, as if she never existed. Naevia lives, Mira thought, as she struggled to find sleep. She must live.

Mira's eyes flashed open just as the sun's first rays rose over the hills. She turned to see Aurelia pull on her dress with a subservient sense of purpose. Thin pink lines, like fine silk threads, showed faintly on the skin over her belly and betrayed the existence of a child never brought into the world. She meant to approach Aurelia, to comfort her in new and unfamiliar surroundings. But in her own pain, she lost the ability to conduct friendly discourse. She rose in silence, watching Aurelia walk out of the quarters, oblivious to her sympathy.

With the entire villa in upheaval, Mira did not have opportunity to lay eyes on Aurelia until well after midday meal. With Naevia removed, Mira tended to Domina personally and her mind was overwhelmed with the thought of strangling her mistress. How closely bound is hate to violence, she thought as she accompanied her Domina to the balcony, that I am capable to plot such vengeance. Is this but a sliver of what Spartacus lives with every day in Batiatus' ludus?

"How do you divine a boy?"

Aurelia could not resist watching Batiatus tenderly run his hand over his wife's yet un-swollen belly. She tried to block memories of Varro from her mind – one thought would spill into a hundred lost moments and drive her mad. But Varro was everywhere. He similarly caressed her belly in their last moments together in a room somewhere under her feet, private embraces made possible by coin lent by Capua's Champion. He asked her if she thought it was another boy, he said he wanted a girl named Cornelia, for his mother.

"Varro was not match for the Champion of Capua! We must give them what was denied that night."

Her blood boiled – as if her husband, the flawed man she loved with such abandon, was unworthy of life before the great fucking Champion. Spartacus. The name seemed vulgar to her; even thinking of it brought her close to retching. She prayed her face did not reveal the tumult of her mind, madly dashing between sorrow and rage. Lucretia's abrupt tone interrupted her seething.

"Out."

Seeing Lucretia squirm with such anxiety brought some gladness to Mira's heart. Nearly every other word to his wife was sour, paired with sweet musings about his child. Domina had become increasingly distrusting of her slaves, sending them out of the room when important matters were discussed. The practice was unnerving – with a woman as villainous as Lucretia, a slave's fate is always uncertain. Festia, the portly overseer of the house, approached the pair as quickly has her frame allowed. Mira's heart sank with disappointment; she _had_ hoped to speak with Aurelia in private.

"One of you is needed to fetch fruit from the market. The other should remain to tend to Domina."

Mira gently placed her hand on Aurelia's shoulder and the girl flinched as if slapped. "I will go." She leaned in carefully. "Lean on this pillar and keep your back straight. You will feel some ease and not appear negligent in your duties." Compassion conveyed, Mira nodded at Festia and left the villa escorted by one of Glaber's soldiers.

Aurelia appreciated the gesture – since the departure of Naevia, the head slave's treatment of her was kinder than when she first arrived. And the thought of the market churned her stomach. Titus' wife would not approach a Roman soldier, of course, in her feverish search for her husband's murderer. The widow's behavior confused Aurelia – she was, after all, a _woman_, was she not? Every Capuan in the inner city knew Titus' habit of taking advantage of those in weaker position; the favors he bestowed on Aurelia before the attack surprised on-lookers in the marketplace. All this evidenced the cruelty of the man and the widow still pursued, desperate to inflict pain.

Dominus emerged from the balcony, "Give word to Ashur. I require his presence in my office."

Aurelia hesitated for a moment. Who? She suddenly remembered the Syrian, attendant to the Dominus, stalking about the villa giving orders. He was also the man who always sent her word of her husband, laden with a few coin and a lecherous grin. The way the man looked at her… and looks at her still. Gaze now bolder than when he first arrived at her door, a ruthless cockiness in his well-cut garb.

"Ashur! Dominus awaits you in his office."

He smiled at her with abandon, his eyebrows drooped to express superficial regret. "Aurelia. I am blessed to receive you; I meant to seek you out to express my deepest condolences for your loss. Varro… was a fine gladiator. And he was fortunate to have such a wife."

"One who loved him alive and loves him still in his grave." She snapped, momentarily loosing control over her rage. She turned on her heel quickly, embarrassed by her display. How much longer? She wondered in a panic. How many more days could she contain the anger surging in her chest, threatening disclosure?


	2. Day 1, Part 2

**DAY ONE – THE PROPOSITION**

**Part Two – Pain**

"Did you hear? Spartacus and Crixus finally face each other sine missione under our very roof!"

"Now, we shall see that bitch of a Thracian fall and the true Champion of this ludus rise again!"

"You favor the fallen Gaul because you are a Gaul. You have no other cause for support. Spartacus is the superior gladiator."

Word spread quickly through the house; whispers of blood rang in Mira's ears as she descended nervously into the ludus. Spartacus sent for her on this night and, knowing well his intentions (or lack thereof) toward her, she would not allow heart to control mind. He did not love her and this audience would not change that. The soldier nudged her forward using what she thought was his sword. When she ignored his gesture, he pushed her back against the wall and pressed himself against her crotch.

His smirk sought intimidation but Mira did not oblige. "Does your champion feel like that, whore?"

"Like what?" She said bitterly and the soldier raised his hand to slap her.

"Apologies." Doctore stood at the ludus gates; Mira ducked away from the soldier and stood at his side. "The Champion requires the girl. Hadrian stands guard at his door to keep watch."

The soldier grunted and lumbered away, defeated. So close to having the girl's cunt and she would not have told a soul under fear of death, but the Doctore was well-liked by the lanista and the offense would not go unnoticed.

Doctore raised a chastising brow at Mira, who ducked her head. She realized then, had he not come to her at that very moment, the soldier could have rammed his sword or his cock into her. "That was unwise." The man commented as he walked with her to Spartacus' chamber.

"I am weary of wisdom." Mira shook her head in lament. "Gratitude for your aid."

Doctore nodded and motioned for the guard to allow her entrance.

The walls were still stained with blood where Spartacus' self-loathing manifested after the death of Varro, but the bed and shelves were replaced. In a single motion, Spartacus gathered Mira in his arms and placed his mouth hotly upon hers.

The kiss was for show; she could sense his open eyes watching the guard through the bars. But she savored the taste as if she would never have his lips again. He pulled from her suddenly.

"I would ask a favor and I must speak with haste. You heard of my match with Crixus in two days' time." He crushed her mouth once again when he saw the guard shift his weight.

"I have." She responded breathlessly and turned him so she could keep watch. His calloused hands traveled over her body and she instinctively groaned with pleasure.

"You must open the ludus gates during our match. You _must_!"

She drew his lower lip into her mouth, and then turned away from the door. He buried his face into the back of her neck, pressing against her. The request and his touch caused her heart to beat ferociously in her ears. "For what purpose? With what key?" His silence answered her query.

"Hadrian! Stop watching the chattel fuck and carry these swords to the armory!"

The guard at the door cast a quick glance into the cell at the seemingly passionate lovers before heeding his superior's call. Mira was relieved to see him depart; she needed answers and if Spartacus wanted his favor fulfilled, he would provide them.

"You ask the impossible."

Despite the terrible tragedies that befell Spartacus' wife since Glaber's betrayal, Mira's envy for Sura burned painfully in her chest. This was a woman who held a man's heart for the rest of his life even when hers ended, felt his wild passions and gentle embraces, was privy to his deepest sorrows and his secret concerns. She often wished to erase Spartacus' pain more than her own, but in payment for the perilous task set before her she would ask a selfish thing.

"This is my price. To feel you inside me. To know a pale shadow of the love you felt for her."

She never witnessed such softness in his eyes as he touched her face and unfastened her dress. In stark contrast to the men she fucked by Dominus' orders, his hands were careful as he lay her on the cot, touching her hair lovingly as he kissed her. Her hands moved toward his subligaria, but he removed them and placed one palm to his cheek.

"Not yet." He whispered, his voice breathy and deep, and he slid his hand between her legs. He brought his mouth to her ear. "Feel my touch." She nearly wept as he brought her close to quaking, slowing his touch as her breath hastened and hastening his touch as her breath slowed. After an agonizingly delicious period, she could barely contain herself and her hands greedily removed the cloth.

"Spartacus." She gasped as he entered her. He covered her mouth in a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into her mouth with every thrust. She worried the name offended him and he meant to silence her.

He lifted his face and looked into her eyes in earnest. "I am your Spartacus."

Aurelia wished the slaves would stop the incessant chattering about the match; hearing that man's name repeated with such reverence sickened her. Words of Spartacus' glory and Lucretia's impending child sharpened the dull aches in her stomach. She made attempt to quell her rage after her display in front of Ashur, who seemed more intrigued than before. She had not considered what would be expected of her as a slave and with his former gift banished from the villa, Ashur's eyes searched for what his loins desired.

Perhaps a demonstration would shut their fucking mouths. She struck her pillow with a heavy hand and slammed her head against it.

"Juno's cunt!"

Silence. She closed her eyes and prayed to the Gods, who may have already abandoned her. Please. _Please_. Kill Spartacus. Maybe then my heart will find a measure of peace.


	3. Day 2

**DAY TWO – THE PREPARATION**

_He stood, watching her step into the dress that lay crumpled on the dusty floor. Her soft pale skin always reddened when they made love, his handprints clearly showing where he gripped her hips and thrust into her, slow at first as he maneuvered around her swollen stomach, then harder as she begged for a faster pace. She raked her fingers through the coiled ringlets and pulled his face to her as she moaned for more, enveloping his mouth with a kiss. For such a gentle, soft-spoken woman, she was of a bestial passion that would cause Venus to blush with envy. She noticed him snickering to himself, still bare of his cloth. _

"_Are you mocking me, husband?"_

_He smiled, his impish expression melting her heart. He placed his hands upon her face and kissed her. "I simply marvel at my wife. I have longed for your touch for many months."_

_She felt him grow hard against her leg. Her fingers snaked over his body and clasped his cock. "I do not see reason to fuck only once." She glanced outside the doors; she saw no one in the corridor. "Your brothers train and your fearsome Doctore is occupied. I would see this opportunity used to full advantage."_

_He required no more words as his hands pulled the straps off her shoulders, nearly ripping the fabric. She looked down momentarily to kick the discarded dress off her feet and then looked upon her husband's handsome face, placing her palms upon his cheeks, overcome with her love for him. She startled at the touch._

"_Why is your skin so cool?"_

_Varro opened his mouth to speak and blood gushed from the orifice. Her husband collapsed at her feet, growing paler and paler as a wound on his flank seeped red. She attempted a scream for help, but a hand covered her mouth and she was silenced. She looked over her shoulder and Spartacus smiled evilly, his sword soaked in Varro's blood._

"Aurelia!"

She woke with a start and looked up at Festia, the large woman glaring down at her in the darkness. The sun was just rising in Capua and lent very little light to the slave quarters.

"Apologies." She managed to gasp, for she could still feel the calloused palm upon her face. A dream turned nightmare. "Am I delayed?" She stood quickly, smoothing her hair.

"No, Dominus has arisen earlier than expected and requires your assistance in his office. Fetch his morning meal from the kitchen and bring it to him." Festia turned to the other slaves. "The rest of you, rise quickly. Tomorrow brings many guests in our house for the match and I would not have a bloody mess made of it."

Aurelia rushed to her duties, drowning her thoughts from raging and distracting her from the task ahead. Fill the water jug, prepare the fruit, fetch Batiatus' coin purse, place his new robes in his suite. The burden of servitude pushed thoughts aside and a moment of idleness brought the image of her husband's powerful form and his childlike face, his eyes contrite and desperate to apologize. Her mind so brimmed with thoughts of hatred and vengeance, she feared control would slip from her fingers, and thoughts would become actions.

Mira felt the wooden hilt of the paring knife in her sticky hands, absentmindedly stroking the worn wood as her Domina ate apple slivers and penned a speech for Illythia to recite at the opening of the match. She said nothing to Mira as she composed, giving her head slave a rare gift – time to think. Mira wondered if sinking blade into human flesh felt different from cutting meat for a feast. She thought of the sweet, metallic smell that wafted from the butcher shop in the market. Would such smells fill the villa on the fated day Spartacus takes his revenge? Would that day come to pass? And if Crixus defeats the Champion and Spartacus falls, while she stands with hands stained with blood? She feared her heart thrust her into an unreasonable pact with the Thracian.

Lucretia rolled the document in a scroll and handed it to Mira. "When I motion to you, you will hand this scroll to Illythia. The dismissive gesture must not go unnoticed." She looked outside to where the Legatus' wife paced, waiting for audience. "She will feel every injury she has ever inflicted on me."

Those entitled words steeled Mira's resolve. And I would see the same fate visited upon you.

Evening came and the Champion of Capua requested his favored woman once again, a right the Dominus would not deny the man who would end Crixus' life. No guards lingered in the square to monitor the lovers but Spartacus lay with Mira enveloped in his arms, sweat cooling their spent flesh.

"Crixus will not move to purpose."

Mira lifted her head and looked at him with pleading eyes. "You must not end his life."

Spartacus furrowed his brow and pulled her face closer to him. "I am loath to end the life of a brother. He does not believe escape will hasten Naevia to his arms. And my course is not his own."

"It is not mine, yet you have convinced me to join with you. Spartacus…" She had not shed tears for Naevia since their last embrace and she fought to keep them from unsympathetic eyes. "Naevia was a sister to me as Crixus is brother to you. Seeing the man she loves fall will cause me deepest pain."

He could see the tears in her dry eyes and kissed her forehead with reassurance. "I would not cause my only friend grief. I will attempt to reason with him as the match progresses. I cannot give guarantee that the man will survive but my desire to keep him alive is bolstered by your words of concern."

Mira kissed his mouth and rose to return to the villa. She dressed without a word, and then turned to her only friend. "Tomorrow, Thracian, the Gods' favor will descend on one man under the roof of the House of Batiatus. May it come crashing down as favor is bestowed upon _you_."

"Varro possessed a fine eye." The words were not meant for her ears, but they repeated over and over in Aurelia's mind. When deciding on the course to unburden her family of debt, the many duties of a slave slipped her mind and she innocently assumed Batiatus would grant her mercy. He treated her with some kindness when she collected her husband, enough for her to have expectation of preferential treatment. Ashur's words also reminded her of her unstable position as a widow – her husband's death left her unbound. Any man could lay claim to her for his pleasure and her Dominus would surrender her body for a pittance. Once again, she prayed to the Gods, this time for protection her husband could no longer provide or escape that only absolving her debt could bring.


	4. Day 3, Part 1

**DAY THREE – THE EXECUTION **

**Part One – The Calm**

Spartacus could die today.

Mira was not the only slave who pondered this possibility, as she polished Dominus' onyx ring for the fifteenth time. She could barely hear Lucretia and Quintus preparing to entertain Capua's elite, flitting about in robes and jewels they could barely afford, planning for futures far beyond their meager grasps. If Spartacus' plan came to fruition, the prestige, the position, the heir growing in Lucretia's long vacant belly would blow away as sharp winds blow dead leaves off the cliff in autumn. Their elation angered Mira and reaffirmed her allegiance to Spartacus – he too planned for a future with Sura, first in the cold hills of Thrace then within these very walls. How many fell upon Spartacus' sword, how much sacrifice in his quest to find his wife?

Her compassion for her friend almost caused her to disregard critical words spoken by her masters.

"I but wish an end to the matter. And then man himself." "Ashur already attends to it."

Mira's heartbeat deafened her. Ashur attends to it? Nearly the entire morning passed and I learn of this treachery _now_? She panicked. I must inform Spartacus! "Domina!" Lucretia turned to her slave with surprise.

"What seizes wit, Mira?" She asked, as Dominus departed to tend to pressing matters.

Excuse formed in her head instantly. "Apologies, a task forgotten, Domina. Your garb prepared, I would descend into the square to bring flowers for decoration."

"Huh. Send the new girl and see to the villa. I would not see you stray so far from my side while preparations are finalized."

Spartacus could die today.

Aurelia mused as she placed cluster after cluster of grapes in glistening horn bowls and carried food to banquet tables with impassive efficiency. The thought should bring comfort, yet a strange feeling nagged at her from a distant place in her mind. She felt empty. Spartacus would fall. And then?

The question caused her to accidently tip olives from a bowl onto the marble floors. She was _unnerved_ by thoughts. Ashur limped to her aid, glancing down at her with intent clear in his disrobing eyes. She wished to keep their conversation brief but his words intrigued.

"I do not believe Spartacus will fall this day."

She pressed for more information, something to quell the uncertainty in her heart. Seizing opportunity, Ashur drew close to her, his eyes fixed upon her, his breath smelling of cloves.

"I am certain of many things within these walls. Your beauty among them."

A memory –Titus smiling as he entered her home with slabs of beef and a bag of sweets. Subsisting on what little she could afford and Felix's generous donations from the produce stall, the food on her table distracted her momentarily as he undid his robe and grabbed at her dress, ripping it off with deft tears. Taken aback with the suddenness of his attack, she tried to whisper her pleas; Cassius slumbered peacefully in the next room. He struck her so hard, she felt her eye nearly drop from its socket. His hand swept the gifts to the floor, violently bending her over the table and smashing her cheek against the rough wood. Her blood left a stain that would not budge for days. She reached behind, scratching at his arms and kicking even as he bucked into her and hit her head against the table again and again. When he stopped, her energy was spent and she slid to the floor. He touched her breasts and her cheek, as an owner would pat the hindquarter of his favorite horse, before turning to leave. He then glanced back at her from the doorway with the expression now on Ashur's face, the fear and shame choked words in her throat.

"Aurelia! You are needed in the square!"

Mira saw the look in the girl's eyes; her own face lost that look many years ago. She gave Ashur a glance full of hatred and placed a hand on Aurelia's back. If the Gods see fit, I would see that Syrian cunt's blood spill on this day.

"Mira!

Fuck, her plan to warn Spartacus through Aurelia failed. No time remained to coax the girl for assistance. "I will attempt to steer you from that snake. Take these flowers to the ludus." She thrust the basket into Aurelia's arms and rushed back to Lucretia. Spartacus may not sway the Gaul and if he falls… Naevia could find fault in me. Her heart would break twice at losing her love and knowing her friend had hand in his death. She glanced back and saw Spartacus move toward Aurelia. The ludus gates _must_ open…

Aurelia's stomach churned at Spartacus' approach, his look heavy with concern. He spoke so kindly, with such love for Varro. But so did Titus, the man who showered her with favor only to gain gruesome return. Her words visibly stung him; she drew pleasure from such moments.

"It was the boy Numerius who demanded simple sport end in death."

For a moment, she considered his claim then turned it from thought. Another ruse? "Ashur prepares meal for Crixus and speaks of the certainty of your fucking victory." She spat the blame, goading him into flinching and at last revealing his true face.

His surprise seemed so genuine, so earnest, so _real_. "I have no hand in this." The statement sounded like a vow, as if he swore it to the Gods in his heart. Could one man be so deceptive?

"Were that true, I would still pray Crixus takes your life before he falls."

Aurelia stormed back into the villa; Spartacus' artifice revived her anger, pushing fear and sadness from mind. Aurelia no longer saw Mira as a kindhearted slave but as Spartacus' bedmate. Festia ushered them away to dress for the festivities; Domina had business to attend that did not require slaves. Mira reached for Aurelia and the girl shrugged her touch away.

"Aurelia, what words did you trade with Spartacus?"

Aurelia sneered at Mira's words. "Only those of contempt. How can you lay with such a man? A dishonorable murderer?" She turned away, only to turn back around by Mira's rough shove.

"You miserable ingrate!" Spat Mira, exhausted by Aurelia's misplaced rage. "You find fault with _Spartacus_? The man who made reunion with your husband possible after Varro squandered winnings on games of chance, the man who swayed Varro's heart to see the error of his rejection of you and the child you bore?"

"That child died with every memory I could have made with Varro!" Aurelia yelled, catching the eye of the other slaves, who stood still in their dressing. "Spartacus killed him! And now he poisons Crixus' food to gain advantage, to kill the man who loved _your_ friend!"

Festia entered and seeing the two women engaged, ordered the other slaves to leave. Mira and Aurelia stood alone in the quarters, facing each other as two gladiators in an arena of blood.

"Fuck." Mira should have known. Of course, his food! Ashur stood right there, happily piling fruit and meat onto a plate. She assumed he audaciously flaunted his new position by eating from Dominus' food. "Your head is more dense than mine, if such a thing is possible. Dominus poisons Crixus for his betrayal with Domina and Domina poisons him for fucking another woman."

Aurelia attempted to speak but Mira's voice rose above her. "Spartacus would have fallen along with Varro had he refused the Magistrate's son. Numerius demanded Varro's death at conclusion of an exhibition and your husband pushed blade into his own flesh to spare Spartacus' life." Mira grabbed Aurelia's shoulders and shook with frustration. "Do you not think that he lays each night in his bed, wishing he could take Varro's place? His wife murdered, his people dead, he had _nothing_ to live for!"

Aurelia stared at Mira, tears forming in her eyes. Mira forced the girl into her arms, holding her tightly. Aurelia did not sob but Mira's bare shoulder dampened with tears. She pulled Aurelia away and was alarmed by her countenance. She was as a living corpse.

"Come along, you two. Your anger vented, I would see you behave yourselves in front of Dominus and his guests. Come!"

They wordlessly pulled on their dresses and followed Festia to the balcony of the villa.


	5. Day 3, Part 2

**DAY THREE – THE EXECUTION **

**Part Two – The Storm**

"Good Batiatus should be held as example to a city mired in shadows and treachery."

She wanted to laugh but composed herself – this house will eventually cause Capua's demise, if not this very night. The moments leading to the match crept by slowly as Mira analyzed every passing second to tear herself from the balcony. She glanced at Aurelia as Spartacus and Crixus took to the sand; her tense posture and the blank look in her eyes worried Mira. She gave no reaction as swords clanged and sparked like lightening – no sign of worry or smirk of satisfaction. Had she driven the poor girl mad with words overly harsh? Minutes seemed hours as the match proceeded and the small crowd was fully enthralled by the sport of blood.

"Apologies, Domina. I must gather more wine from the stores."

"Send another. I would keep you close to attend the guests."

Jupiter's cock and balls… She shook her head at the Champion and saw the dread in Spartacus' eyes. He stole moments to reason with Crixus but he could only seize opportunity to strike when he was certain the doors of the ludus stood open. Mira's one bold act would ignite the boldest act ever undertaken by the slave of a Roman citizen; could she afford meekness? She silently slipped away toward the stairs, while her Domina closely watched Crixus for signs of weakening.

"He gives much better showing against Spartacus than the fool Varro."

"Poor Varro. He never stood proper chance, did he?"

They mock him! Aurelia screamed in her mind, her face remaining placid and dead. She so feared losing mind but it slipped and slipped as rain off a rooftop. He mocks him! Should she trust in the veracity of Spartacus' words, shared by Mira and now the boy himself gives reason, how he speaks of Varro with such disregard. She looked upon Numerius' face, still smooth of beard and glowing with youth and hope. Varro would never see Cassius as a man, would never compare height to son, never beam with pride as he donned toga virillus. He mocks him! _He mocks him_!

The guard looked at Mira only for an instant; during such celebrations, a slave was bound to make mistake. Mira pushed a hair from her eyes obliviously, tilting her body slightly, playing the simple girl. "Apologies." He returned attention to the match. She chose the largest, sharpest shard from the broken wine jug; she feared the jug would splinter into pieces too small for the task. She neared the guard and was poised to strike when doubt stabbed her thoughts first. _What are you doing?_ She saw the men in the square bound in chains, Crixus whose breath was already labored and brow drenched with sweat, Spartacus with eyes pleading with his brother.

She brought her arm down at the exact point Spartacus directed and blood splattered upon her dress, drenched her hands as the shard sank into flesh, a sickening sucking sound whenever she withdrew her makeshift weapon. She flung open the gate and showed her bloodied palm to Spartacus. She could not tear herself from the match, the Thracian approaching the fading Gaul with bolstered confidence.

She witnessed with anxiety the moment Crixus crouched, tapped his shield and spoke a single word. "Spartacus."

As slow as the rebellion came, so quickly it progressed. Spartacus soared off the shield at an impossible height and blood sprayed from the balcony and bodies fell and Doctore's whip was severed. Crixus thunderously roared "Kill them! Kill them all!"

Aurelia felt herself pushed into the villa; her eyes left Numerius for a moment to see Spartacus poised for attack with sword in hand. _What is happening? Where is the boy?_ Her mind throbbed as she searched for him. The house was chaotic; she could find opportunity to break words with Numerius. She realized then why Titus' widow so persistently sought punishment for her husband's murder – for the same reason she condemned Spartacus and did not realize the fault could lie with another. Who else could a powerless widow blame for her demotion and for the pain of loss? Striking out against a person of influence or rejoicing in the death of a cruel husband was inconceivable. The bitter taste of such vulnerability sought the sweetness of loathing and vengeance. Aurelia's eyes found the boy and she fixed gaze upon him.

"Hamilcar!"

Some gladiators fell, others plowed through guards with deadly strikes. Mira felt frozen in place, even as Doctore and Crixus bickered over the validity of uprising. "I have given my life to this ludus!" Mira pitied Oenomaus; he also suffered at his master's hands and yet could not see the dishonor clearly presented before him.

"Mira! The gates!" Crixus' booming command jolted her and feet carried her in a sprint to open the inner doors of the villa. As the gladiators rushed past her, she saw the female slaves clustered into a corner petrified with fear. They called to the head slave and she rushed to them; her task was fulfilled but more was required to see Spartacus' vision realized.

"Do not be afraid and stay by my side. No one will harm you." As they huddled around her pressing for words of comfort, she noticed the number lessened. "Where is Aurelia?"

She barely noticed the blood on the walls and floors of the villa, halls littered with the bodies of guards, slaves and Roman citizens. Her attention was focused, the tension in her body given purpose. She stayed by her Domina as they escaped from room to room, Batiatus cutting down whoever stood in their way. As they turned a corner, Lucretia gripped Aurelia's arm. "Your loyalty will not be forgotten." Words fell upon deaf ears; Aurelia's intent was more sinister than simple survival.

"The doors! The doors! Glaber's men sealed the doors."

Juno, Goddess of wives, blessed her; they were locked inside the villa. The boy would not find escape from her now. She did not pity him when his mother was struck down, her back severed open by one blow. He only looked fragile; even the mewling son of a Magistrate held more power in his sweaty, milky palms than she could ever muster. Pity flew from unstable mind, hatred too. She was filled with only vengeance and would see it overflow toward her true offender.

"Take Numerius." Domina ordered without consideration. "Conceal yourselves."

She would find a place removed from the massacre. She would find concealment. And absolution.

"Come." She motioned to the frail boy, who looked pale with fear and desperation. Her heart swelled with gratitude; now Nemesis showed her favor. "I know a place."


	6. Day 3, Part 3

**DAY THREE – THE EXECUTION **

**Part Three – Factum Est **

Quiet.

The room was unusually quiet, the din of screams and battle cries reduced to whispers, with the accompaniment of the occasional clatter of swords clashing and falling brassware. Numerius stood bewildered, cringing at the puddles of blood congealing on cool marble and pieces of men and women scattered on the floor like the olives that once escaped her. Much had changed since morning; the delicate balance of Aurelia's mind shifted and gave way to mania.

Her roaming eyes found a paring knife sitting with a bowl of fruit. She grasped the hilt; a surge of empowerment filled her veins. "Was it yours?" She probed. "That small, little voice. Did it form the words that robbed Varro of his life?"

"Varro?" He looked at her with surprise. "He deserved to die." As if the question was so ludicrous; Varro was of no consequence to the son of the Magistrate. "He was nothing."

Nothing_. Nothing_. She moved with great difficulty; the power she now possessed burdened her delicate form and every movement was cumbersome. Her grip tightened around the smooth wood; she strengthened her will to the task. _He was nothing_.

"What did you know of the man?" The boy within the man. The innocence of his ambitions. The purity of his heart. Did you know _him_?

Cassius was ill, burning with fever. "That he would sing to his child, sleeping in his arms?" Varro kissed his wet forehead, his voice gentle and deep like the roar of waves crashing upon a peaceful beach. _If you sing to him, my darling wife, his illness might worsen_, he teased.

"Or kiss the tears from my cheek when I was of a mood?" He decided to give himself to the arena in payment of his debts and she told him she hated him for his weakness. He saw past her anger to the painful fear of losing him and kissed her cheeks with such tenderness that tears escaped her. _I do this for us, Aurelia_. _I love you_.

The day he left, he lifted Cassius in his arms and squeezed the boy till he squealed with delight. _Do not forget me, Cassius_. _I will return as soon as the Gods will it_. "Did you know the father?" He pulled her body flush against his, savoring every sensation, feeling her entire skin as if committing the touch to memory. _This separation is only temporary_. _My body, my heart, my entire being belongs to you and you alone have command of it_. "The husband?" Aurelia felt the smoothness of Numerius' cheek and marveled at how such a slight, sallow-skinned boy could steal her love, her life, her sanity.

_I love you_, _Aurelia_. "He was not a perfect man." She watched Varro walk away from their home, tall and golden in the sunlight, his beauty rivaling Apollo himself. Varro looked back upon his family and flashed his playful grin; her heart swelled to bursting with love.

You fucking child. You careless, selfish cunt of a whelp. "But he was mine." _Mine_.

Someone far in the distance was screaming madly. "He was mine! He was mine! Mine!" Aurelia felt a blade sink into flesh and scrape roughly against bone and realized the boy was beneath her and she was hacking at his torso. _He was nothing_. He was not nothing. "Mine! He was mine!" Fucking cunt! "MINE!"

Strong arms pulled her away screaming, her throat ached from exertion. Numerius was limp, his neck an unrecognizable tangle of pale pink sinew, white bone and red mass. She saw the sword drenched in blood and looked fearfully over her shoulder. Spartacus' face bore no evil but expressed compassion and concern. "It's done."

She at last saw him as pitiful as she was, a widower in mourning. _His wife murdered_. Her heart shattered for their shared loss of wife and brother and the false hatred she bore him in the past. She finally wept freely for Varro, for Sura, for Spartacus and for herself.

She was lifted off the floor by her shoulders by a man with pained eyes much like Spartacus and her own. Oenomaus placed the weight of her against him. "Can you walk, Aurelia?"

"Is he dead?"

Oenomaus looked at the boy lying on the floor and nodded with reassurance. "You have your vengeance. Numerius is dead. Come." She leaned against the man for support, thankful for her husband's brothers and the love they yet felt for him.

Mira watched Oenomaus escort a stunned Aurelia, dress smeared with blood, into the atrium with the other slaves as Spartacus confronted their Dominus. Numerius has fallen, she was sure of that. Aurelia looked around the room in a daze, but she did seem at peace. Lucretia lay bleeding into the fountain, which already flowed red with the blood of Capua's elite. The look of satisfaction in Crixus' eyes claimed responsibility and the sight of the fading woman stilled Mira's fretting heart. But where is the snake? Where is Ashur?

"Tell her the gods themselves would not keep you apart. Lie! As you lied to me of my wife!"

A single sob escaped from Spartacus as he spoke. Mira saw the pity in the eyes of the slaves, not only for Spartacus but also for themselves. How many of them suffered at the hands of their Roman masters? Lost family, friends, honor, freedom so easily at the whims of those who lay claim to their bodies. Justice was such a foreign concept to those condemned to servitude. She firmly decided then that never again would a man command her to do anything against her will.

Aurelia resented the shaky haughtiness in Batiatus' posture and relished the tremor of fear that coursed through his voice. He too was guilty of Varro's murder and Spartacus would avenge his brother as she did in slaying the whimpering snob Numerius.

"Now you are destroyed by it." Quintus' throat gushed; he choked and struggled to touch his wife one last time before he died. He fell and Lucretia's fingers twitched inches away from her husband. The slaves of the house of Batiatus stood with mixed emotion – fear, elation, pride and doubt.

"I have done this thing because it is just. Blood demands blood. We have lived and lost at the whims of our masters for too long. I would not have it so." The faces of the slaves seemed all at once to tilt upward in pride. Spartacus' words forced them to believe that they were of more worth than a trader could assess or an editor of games could determine. An emotion flooded Mira's heart with warmth, something she had not felt for years – true, untarnished hope. Naevia and I will meet again and embrace, and one day our lives of servitude will be but a faint, distant memory. I will witness happiness upon my friend's face once again.

"I would not see the passing of a brother for the purpose of sport. I would not see another heart ripped from chest, or breath forfeit for no cause." Aurelia was no longer blind to Spartacus' pain, the heaviness in his voice mourned her husband. Varro was husband, father, brother, friend. He belonged to many, yet no man had the right to claim ownership of him. What a trial it must have been for Spartacus to kill his own brother at the gesture of a child. What part of his humanity died in that moment?

"I know not all of you wished this. Yet it is done. It is done. Your lives are your own. Forge your own path." Mira thought on this concept for a moment, to simply conclude her complicity with the Thracian at that very moment and walk out of the doors of the villa. Unencumbered by the weight of forced labor, she would… do what?

"Or join with us and together we shall see Rome tremble!"


End file.
